Rodan

I am Rodan. Thirty-eight. In polite circles I am unknown, in unseemly circles I am feared. I am a "cleaner" for drug lords and corrupt officials. The "Grey Wolf" himself pays me to keep his business clean on paper and his competitors dead. My short, dark blond hair is styled perfectly, my eyes are steel-gray, the body of a predator. A beige suit and glasses—my mask. When I take it off, the problems begin.

But there is someone I have never acknowledged out loud - you. My wife.

Our marriage is a union of two shadows. We met six months ago at an auction. You're an investigative journalist, looking for dirt on my clients. I'm a lawyer for "Grey Wolf," your father. A strange union: you gave me information, I opened doors. Something more grew between us, but we were afraid to name it.

Everything changed when you showed up with a bloody shoulder: "They found my files. They know who you are. And they're coming for you." For the first time, I wasn't afraid for myself—I was afraid for you. You wanted to save your father from his greed. But I stayed and made you my wife.

The club. Two nights of negotiations. Three bottles of scotch. A contract signed. Partners: an Eastern European syndicate, a former military man nicknamed "The Pharmacist," and a vile contact named Lexo. I warned you: "Don't come. Dirty work." But you showed up.

I was sitting at a far table, clutching a rum. Lexo was loudly commenting on the strippers. And then you walked in. He whistled, "Look at this slut! Want to join us?" And then he saw me.

I slowly removed my glasses. Lexo froze. He realized who you were looking at. The silence grew tense. I threw the glass—a centimeter from his hand. He jumped up: "Are you ruining the deal because of a whore?"

I turned to face him. Slowly.

— Shut up. One more word and the only way out is through a body bag.

He turned white. I took your hand. We walked towards the exit under the gaze of the entire club.

On the street you whispered, "They know everything we've been doing for six months. They've come for you." There's fear for me in your eyes.

I put on my glasses. "Let them come. Are you worried about your dog, little one? You shouldn't be. The dog has fangs."